#considering the time spent on them i think that works out

[seasidefallenangel]

yeah, i feel it coming on, when i've been static for too long

how good are blue lock men at taking off your bra? ft. itoshi sae, otoya eita, chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, michael kaiser, mikage reo, alexis ness

notes: companion post with my bestie reid<3 you can read his here or by clicking the title, suggestive but mostly funny, reader wears a bra but gender isn't specified

༄ CAN TAKE YOUR BRA OFF BETTER THAN YOU CAN -

sae:  you’re not sure how exactly he’s so good at this. despite his looks and ease of access, he had no interest in relationships prior to meeting you. you can’t accuse him of cheating either because sae would just flat out dump you if he was no longer interested. even when you ask he just gives you a blank stare and asks if it matters. in the end you just had to chalk it up to him being naturally good at everything once again.

otoya: every time he flawlessly unclasps your bra your eye twitches with resentment. you’re both fully aware of why he’s able to do that with such ease, but you won’t bring it up. he just laughs nervously and prays he can make you feel good enough that you won’t think to interrogate him further. at least he thinks you’re hot when you’re mad (just… not when you’re mad at him.)

chigiri: you ask him if he’s so good at this because he wears them in his free time. he does not laugh. honestly though, the worst part about him is how sneaky he is. you never even feel his hand, fingers, not a thing until your bra is suddenly no longer on your body. the worst is when he does it in the grocery store to piss you off as revenge for something you’d done two days prior. to this day you still never see it coming.

༄ GETS IT AFTER A FEW TRIES -

yukimiya: yukimiya is a good boy who always has your best interest at heart, and literally spent time in a lingerie store figuring out how bras work so he could do it with ease during any actual intimacy. dealing with the fabric on a moving body was a bit more difficult than he anticipated, but he’s still good enough at it that it doesn’t really distract or take away from the heat of the moment. 

karasu: he’s been around here and there, but he’s no player or one to have a million situationships at once. it’s not quite muscle memory for him but he’s still familiar enough to get it off of you in a decent amount of time. something to his benefit is that he is touchy, so if he thinks it’s going to be more of an issue tonight he’ll opt to run his fingers across your body to distract you. it’s like the touch of an angel’s wing, so soft and reverent that you can’t even feel him fiddling with the metal clasps. 

isagi: there’s a demon in the back of his head that tells him if he can’t do this properly then he needs to kill himself. there’s absolutely no reason he should be taking it this seriously. you can’t figure out why he looks so stone faced when he’s trying to unhook it until he eventually admits he’s timing himself in his head and trying to shave off seconds it takes him. it’s so ridiculous yet so earnest and so yoichi that you don’t even have the heart to make fun of him for it. 

༄ BECOMES IMPATIENT AND JUST DESTROYS IT -

nagi: he’s actually a more patient person than you think. the only thing that really gets him is menial tasks, complex things for no reason or overly complicated to deal with. those horrible straps and clips of yours fall under every category he hates and therefore bras as a whole are his mortal enemy. there’s a sign on his door that says “bra free area” in messy handwriting and he takes it very seriously. leave that shit in the bathroom.

rin: considering he was a sad, pathetic virgin before you two started dating, it’s very obvious he has no idea how the fuck that thing works. he hates that you even have to wear it all. there’s nothing that tanks his mood worse than making out with you and him seeing that demon when he gets your shirt off. you’ve yelled at him a million times for it and he always just buys you three more to make up for it. just let him do it or he’ll act all broody and upset for the rest of the night.

bachira: too damn excited to do anything properly. he’s literally vibrating every single time you even kiss him, and the prospect of doing anything more has him about to do backflips in the living room. you’re not sure if he knows how to do it right or not - he’s never even tried. he bit the straps off with his teeth once for god's sake. at the end of the day it is off of your body one way or another, and you just don’t have the energy to correct him otherwise.

shidou: the thing with shidou isn’t that he doesn’t know how to - he doesn’t want to. not only does he find the prospect of ripping clothes incredibly sexy, he’s an impatient bastard. if he can’t get instant gratification and a constant dopamine rush then he’s making it everyone else’s problem. cussing him out doesn’t work either cause he’ll just give a loud fake moan and tell you you’re hot when you’re a bitch. there’s no winning here, so get used to it.

༄ … YOU SHOULD PROBABLY JUST TAKE IT OFF YOURSELF -

kaiser: michael kaiser is an asshole and generally never gave a shit about his partners’ needs before you. he can’t take off a bra because he never felt like there was a reason to, and now it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. if you offer to help he just gets even angrier. will literally stop everything and swear for 5 minutes straight under his breath while his fingers get caught in the clasp. if you want to do anything with him, take off your bra before approaching.

reo: not as much of an asshole as a certain someone, but is in the same camp of not needing to ever take it off. people were always throwing themselves at him for a chance to be in the mikage family so the work he had to do was minimal. in a weird way, he likes it when you giggle at his unusually clumsy nature while trying to unhook your bra. it makes him feel normal, knowing you’re so at ease with teasing him. at some point he does learn how to do it properly, but still bumbles around - partly because he likes to hear your laugh, partly because he’s too distracted with how cute you are to pay any real attention. 

alexis: between being far too busy as kaiser’s right hand man, and absolutely loathing the hook-up culture of the world, alexis doesn’t know the first thing about women’s lingerie. at most he picks out pretty colors for you sometimes. you’re always the one to do it because every single time he tries, without fail, he takes so long that his fingers get sore and he starts tearing up. something about “being a bad boyfriend” and “not knowing how to treat you” and you want to shake him and say you don’t give a shit, it’s literally fabric. please don’t ever put him through that again.

[midnightquillz]

I might have done this wrong, but I really wanted to try ✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨ So i decided to try it out heh i'm pretty sure i did this wrong BUT HEY, WE CAN'T GET BETTER IF WE NEVER TRY AND LEARN RIGHT?-

Content Warnings:

Blackmail and coercion

Threats of violence

Surveillance and stalking

Psychological manipulation

Anti-LGBTQ+ themes

Targeting of marginalized communities

Financial exploitation

Implied threats to family member's safety

Note: This story deals with an organization that specifically targets chosen families and LGBTQ+ support networks with harmful intent.

The Interview

Riley had been sitting in the same coffee shop for three hours, nursing their second latte and pretending to read the same page of their book. The interview wasn't for another twenty minutes, but they'd rather be early and anxious than late and unemployed.

"You look nervous," said a voice from the next table.

Riley glanced up to see a woman about their age with kind eyes and paint-stained fingers wrapped around a ceramic mug. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she wore the kind of vintage band t-shirt that suggested she'd actually been to the concert.

"Job interview," Riley admitted, closing their book. "First one in months."

"What kind of job?"

"Research assistant at some nonprofit. Heritage Foundation or something? I honestly just need the income." Riley laughed nervously. "I'm probably overqualified anyway. PhD in sociology, but apparently that doesn't mean much these days."

The woman's expression shifted slightly—so briefly Riley almost missed it. "Heritage Foundation, you said?"

"Yeah, do you know it?"

"I might have heard of it." She extended her hand. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Riley. And thanks for the distraction. I was starting to spiral."

Sam smiled. "What's your research focus?"

"Community dynamics, mostly. How marginalized groups create support networks, that kind of thing." Riley felt themselves relaxing. Sam was easy to talk to, the kind of person who listened like your words actually mattered. "I spent two years embedded with queer youth in foster care, documenting how they find chosen family."

"That sounds important."

"It was. I mean, it is. The work matters, you know? Even if academia doesn't seem to think so." Riley checked their phone. "I should probably head over soon."

"Where's the interview?"

"Some office building on Pine Street. Tenth floor." Riley gathered their things. "Honestly, I didn't research them as much as I should have. Desperate times and all that."

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Riley, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"When you were doing your research—with the foster kids—did you ever feel like you were... I don't know, exploiting their stories? Even with good intentions?"

The question caught Riley off guard. "I... no. I mean, I was careful about consent, about making sure they had agency in how their stories were told. Why?"

"Just curious about research ethics." Sam's smile didn't quite reach her eyes now. "You should probably go. Don't want to be late."

Riley stood, slinging their bag over their shoulder. "It was nice meeting you, Sam. Thanks for calming my nerves."

"Good luck with the interview."

The Heritage Foundation's office was smaller than Riley had expected—just a few rooms with generic furniture and motivational posters about "preserving traditional values." The receptionist, a tired-looking man in his fifties, barely looked up when Riley announced themselves.

"Ms. Henderson will see you now," he said, gesturing toward a corner office.

Ms. Henderson was exactly what Riley had pictured when they'd applied: polished, professional, the kind of woman who probably had her calendar color-coded and her meals planned a week in advance. She stood to shake Riley's hand, her grip firm and confident.

"Dr. Okafor, thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat."

Riley settled into the chair across from her desk, trying to project confidence they didn't feel. "Thank you for considering my application."

"Your credentials are impressive. PhD in sociology, focus on community dynamics, extensive fieldwork experience." Ms. Henderson flipped through what Riley assumed was their resume. "Tell me about your work with marginalized communities."

Riley launched into their practiced spiel about ethical research practices and community-centered approaches, but Ms. Henderson's questions kept steering toward specifics—names, locations, identifying details that made Riley increasingly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Riley said finally, "but I'm not comfortable sharing that level of detail about my research subjects. Confidentiality is paramount in this kind of work."

Ms. Henderson smiled. "Of course. We completely understand the importance of... discretion. That's actually why we're so interested in your particular skill set."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dr. Okafor, the Heritage Foundation's mission is to preserve and protect traditional family structures. Your research into how certain groups form alternative family networks could be invaluable in helping us understand—and address—these concerning trends."

Riley felt their stomach drop. "Address them how?"

"Well, by working with local authorities, social services, that sort of thing. To ensure children are placed in appropriate, stable homes rather than these... unconventional arrangements."

The room suddenly felt very small. "Are you saying you want me to help you break up chosen families?"

"We want you to help us protect children from being exposed to lifestyle choices that could be harmful to their development."

Riley stood up so quickly their chair scraped against the floor. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. My research supports these communities—it doesn't undermine them."

Ms. Henderson's expression didn't change. "Dr. Okafor, I think you'll find our offer quite generous. Especially considering your current financial situation."

"How do you know about my financial situation?"

"We do our research too." Ms. Henderson leaned back in her chair. "Student loans, credit card debt, eviction notice last month that you managed to avoid by borrowing money from... let's see... your sister Maya?"

Riley's blood ran cold. "How do you—"

"Sit down, Dr. Okafor."

Riley remained standing. "I'm leaving."

"I don't think you are." Ms. Henderson pressed a button on her desk phone. "Security, please come to my office."

Two men appeared in the doorway—not the tired receptionist, but two large men in dark suits who looked like they'd stepped out of a movie about corporate espionage.

"Dr. Okafor was just leaving," Ms. Henderson said pleasantly. "But I think they forgot their phone."

One of the men held up Riley's phone—the one that had been in their bag, the one they definitely hadn't taken out.

"You can't just—"

"Actually, we can. You see, when you filled out our application, you agreed to a background check. Very thorough background check. We know about your research, your subjects, your financial troubles, your family..." Ms. Henderson smiled. "Your sister Maya, for instance. Interesting girl. Librarian, lives alone on Fourth Street, takes the same route to work every day."

Riley's knees nearly gave out. "Don't you dare—"

"Oh, we won't touch her. As long as you're reasonable." Ms. Henderson gestured to the chair. "Please. Sit."

Riley sat.

"Excellent. Now, as I was saying, we have a very generous offer. You'll provide us with the names, locations, and details of every chosen family network you've encountered in your research. In exchange, we'll pay off your debts, provide you with a comfortable salary, and ensure your sister remains safe and undisturbed in her quiet little life."

"And if I refuse?"

"Well, that would be unfortunate. For several people."

Riley stared at her, mind racing. "This is insane. You can't just—"

"Dr. Okafor," Ms. Henderson interrupted, "do you know how we found you?"

"My application—"

"No. We've been tracking your research for months. Every interview you conducted, every subject you spoke with, every coffee shop where you met with potential participants." Ms. Henderson turned her computer screen toward Riley. "Including this morning."

On the screen was a photo—taken from across the street, through the coffee shop window. Riley could see themselves clearly, sitting at their table, talking to...

"Sam," Riley whispered.

"Sam Morrison. She's been documenting your research methods for us. Very thorough notes about your subjects, your ethical concerns, your financial situation. Even helped us time this interview perfectly."

Riley felt like they might throw up. "She's been—"

"Watching you, yes. Getting to know your patterns, your vulnerabilities, your pressure points. She's quite good at making people comfortable, isn't she?"

The coffee shop conversation replayed in Riley's mind with horrible new clarity. Sam asking about exploitation, about research ethics, about the Heritage Foundation itself. The way her expression had changed when Riley mentioned the organization's name—not surprise, but recognition.

"The question about research ethics," Riley said slowly. "She was testing me."

"Making sure you were as idealistic as your research suggested. People with strong moral convictions are so much easier to manipulate, don't you think?"

Riley's phone buzzed on the desk. Ms. Henderson glanced at it. "Text from Maya. 'Hope your interview goes well.' Sweet girl."

"Don't."

"Then we have an understanding?"

Riley looked at the phone, at the photo on the computer screen, at the two men still standing in the doorway. They thought about Maya, about the queer kids they'd interviewed, about chosen families being torn apart by people who thought love could only look one way.

"I need time to think."

"You have until tomorrow morning. Sam will be in touch to... help you make the right decision."

One of the men stepped forward and placed Riley's phone on the desk, then both men left the room. Ms. Henderson stood up, smoothing her skirt.

"Oh, and Dr. Okafor? Don't try to contact any of your research subjects to warn them. We're monitoring your communications now. Any attempt to compromise our operation will result in immediate consequences for your sister."

Riley picked up their phone with shaking hands. "This is kidnapping. Blackmail."

"This is business. And you're now part of our business model." Ms. Henderson walked to the door. "Sam will pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. She'll drive you to your first interview."

"My first—"

"With the Rodriguez family. The one you wrote about so beautifully in your dissertation—the teenage runaway who found a home with that lovely older gay couple in Capitol Hill." Ms. Henderson smiled. "Social services is very interested in investigating their... living arrangement."

Riley stood frozen as Ms. Henderson left the office. The two men had disappeared, the tired receptionist was back at his desk as if nothing had happened, and Riley was alone with the horrible understanding that they'd walked into a trap that had been months in the making.

Their phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number: Coffee was nice this morning. See you bright and early tomorrow. - Sam

Riley stared at the message, then at the address attached—Maya's apartment building.

The photo was taken from inside Maya's building. From the hallway outside her door.

I don't feel as confident with this but don't worry i'm going to re-write and make another one that might hit better. BUT EITHER WAY I DO HOPE YA'LL ENJOY LMFAO.

🔪 3 Plot Twists That Slap (and 1 that should be arrested) 🔪

hello and welcome back to me yelling on main about storytelling crimes. today we are talking about plot twists. specifically: the good, the god-tier, and the why-would-you-do-this-i-trusted-you tier.

let’s go.

✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨ a.k.a. the “wait. WAIT.” twist. This is when you drop a twist that doesn’t just add drama - it recontextualizes the entire story. It makes the reader go back and reread earlier scenes like “was this character ALWAYS sketchy or am I just stupid??” It retroactively changes the emotional weight of everything that’s happened. Suddenly that offhanded comment in chapter three hits like a brick. The romance subplot becomes 500% more tragic. The villain’s motive makes SENSE now. Delicious.

✅ Best used when: the breadcrumbs are subtle but real. The twist shouldn’t come out of nowhere - it should feel inevitable in hindsight. Like Sixth Sense, Knives Out, that one betrayal in your favorite anime you still haven’t recovered from.

2.🧨 The Emotional Betrayal It’s giving: “i would’ve died for you” energy. This is the kind of twist that hurts. You thought they were loyal. You thought they cared. They did care - and still did it anyway. Or they never cared, and now you’re spiraling. This twist slaps because it’s not just about plot, it’s about trust. It stabs the characters AND the reader in the same motion. Bonus points if it’s a slow burn betrayal. Bonus bonus points if the betrayer feels genuinely torn up about it.

✅ Best used when: the reader is emotionally attached. Don’t waste this one on a side character we barely know. Save it for the love interest. The best friend. The mentor figure with dad energy. Make it personal. Make it RUIN lives.

3. 🧊 The “They Were Dead the Whole Time” but Make It Interesting Listen. This one’s risky. It’s a classic for a reason but also easy to flop. But when done well? Haunting. Creepy. Unhinged in a gorgeous way. It doesn’t have to be death either - maybe the character’s been possessed. Or they’re not real. Or the narrator’s memory is lying. The KEY is to not lean too hard on the shock. Lean on the vibes. Give it eeriness. Make it a slow unraveling. Give us dread. Give us melancholy. Give us psychological decay with a side of unreliable narrator.

✅ Best used when: you’re writing something surreal, gothic, speculative, or emotionally weird. This twist isn’t about plot logic, it’s about atmosphere and emotional rot.

🚨 The Twist That Should Be Arrested: “It Was All a Dream” 🚨 I’m sorry but. no. if I read 80k words of someone’s descent into madness just to find out it was their stress dream and now they’re normal again?? I will throw the entire book into a lake. This twist erases tension instead of escalating it. It invalidates everything the reader emotionally invested in. It’s the narrative equivalent of gaslighting. don’t do it. UNLESS - and this is a big unless - you’re doing it with INTENT. Meta intent. Dream-within-a-dream psychological horror intent. If you’re gonna do it, it better haunt me. It better RUIN me. Otherwise? Into the lake.

okay that’s all. go forth and commit plot crimes responsibly. bonus points if you use all three Good Twists in the same story and then look me in the eye like “oh was that too much?”

it wasn’t.

tag me when you emotionally destroy someone with it.

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[diabolicalevil]

How would Primarchs react to falling asleep or cuddling with love interest by accident?

Primarchs reactions to falling asleep with you

gn!reader

honestlyy this is perfect timing cause I've been a lot more sleepy than normal. its probably the summer heat and all those books I pretend to read

Lion El'johnson: Sleep isn't something that comes easily to him, it means complete vulnerability so it's never accidental. He demands that you sleep in his quarters with him watching over you. If you ask him to join you, he'll usually scoff but this once he did concede. It wasn't his best sleep, he was awake almost all of it. Lion told himself he was just keeping you safe but really he was entranced to see a peaceful side of you that he hadn't seen up close before.

Fulgrim: fulgrim loves 2 party!!!! When you left the event with Fulgrim most, including you both, expected things to get frisky. But as soon as you were half out of your formal wear and tumbling into bed you were out cold immediately. Fulgrim had woken first, all smiles as he cradled you. While he lamented missing out on getting to have you he had to admit seeing you content and asleep in his arms was just as thrilling.

Perturabo: If it were anyone else he'd call them pathetic to their face. What a sight it was, you had waited for him so long you'd slipped into sleep. He dare not touch or wake you, and he certainly wouldn't have his sons move you. So he left you uncomfortably tucked into a chair. A small joy to look at as he worked.

Jaghatai Khan: No amount of pleading or bargaining could get this man to rest. you grew to accept this but you, being a baseline, still had to. Getting in a midday cat nap was far easier with Jaghatai gone, presumably racing like hell. Waking up you found yourself curled up at his side, attempting or maybe just pretending to sleep. "I don't see why you like this so much." He remarked, already preparing to leave. While he certainly didn't get it, it was nice that he tried to understand you.

Leman Russ: Despite being the father to thousands of wolf sons he seemingly never tired. Key word seemingly. In the quiet of your shared bedroom it would take at most an hour for him to doze off. Often you would too, being completely surrounded by a massive, searing hot body would do that. Waking up with him after a nap was the closest he'd get to being tender.

Rogal Dorn: Can sleep anywhere surprisingly. Transport ship, on his work table, upright in his armour, whatever works in the moment. He never usually considered his work tedious but even having you chatting to him couldn't make it interesting today. The tedium got to you as well and it wasn't long until you were asleep. Dorn knew he should continue working, but there was no one there to judge him as he scooped you up in his lap and fell asleep with you. he wore the pain glove for the next 56 hours as punishment

Konrad Curze: sleeps upside down and is very upset stupid shit like "blood flow" prevents you from joining him.

Sanguinius: You spend most of your time together in his gardens, marvelling at his plants or, in this case, sleeping in the sun. There is nothing he loves more than cradling you in his wings. He wakes up long before you but not once does leaving even cross his mind. You're the only thing he truly has and he will relish it in this moment.

Ferrus Manus: Unsurprisingly it is hard and annoying to cuddle a man with metal arms. He's usually freezing to the touch and rather than wait until it warms up you sleep on his chest and he lays starfish. He claims it's just a necessity you must tolerate but he does think it's kinda funny.

Angron: The nails are far too loud for him to achieve sleep unless he is completely spent. He does however watch you sleep. Often. He'll hold your hand against his head like a cold cloth to a fever. His voice is too loud to speak aloud and he dare not wake you so he merely kneels by you and thinks. Thanks, apologies, confessions, whatever comes to mind in the moment. The nails punish him for it, but when else would he get a moment to let those thoughts form?

Roboute Guilliman: You were already in his lap while he was working. Just having you next to him is enough to make the work more bearable. When you fall asleep he takes his first break in hours, leaning down to kiss your hair and whisper his thoughts and frustrations to you. All things he tried to keep to himself as to not worry you.

Mortarion: worlds most annoying bastard refuses to cuddle. Shocker. Most you'll get is using his thigh as a pillow. Once he's sure, like 100% sure that you're asleep, he'll start petting you.

Magnus: Surprisingly nice to fall asleep around, he acts as a human dream catcher. He is a little annoyed you clocked out while with him, he had something to say. (Then again when does he not) but quickly finds that watching you lounging in his absurdly large furniture is very amusing.

Horus Lupercal: pillows 🤤 He's got one of the most "strong man" builds of the primarchs, that is to say kinda pudgy. Not to mention his boobing breasts. He was made to take naps on and he knows it. Often suggests it and when you do fall asleep he won't move for anything or anyone.

Lorgar Aurelian: Usually doesn't lay with you, something something holy purity. Instesd he'll sit on or next to the bed and speak with you until and even after you fall asleep. Big fan of reading you scripture.

Vulkan: He's like a furnace so any naps or cuddling won't last long, much to your chagrin of course but he enjoys what time he does get. Likes to cuddle most when you're in his room, far far away from noise or harm. Watching you rest never fails to remind him of what he fights to protect in humanity.

Corvus Corax: Doesn't sleep often but is very easily woken, even by primarch standards. Utterly fascinated by your ability to sleep soundly, vows to have anyone who disturbs your rest sentenced to death by ravens. Alfred Hitchcock Style.

Alpharius/Omegon: sandwich 🤤 For the "this is the other half of my soul" guys they sure know how to bicker. Always arguing one has more of you despite laying in between them. They never fall asleep but they pretend to as you doze off. Instead, they watch you. Intently. Recording every slight twitch or breath and slotting it away in the deepest parts of their memory.

ok thank u 4 the ask anon nap time for meee

[alwaysless]

What time period do you think Prospero is from?

As it turns out we actually have quite a lot of details about Prospero's culture and period of life. More than I expected, considering just one full-fledged flashback (in case you're wondering why I spent so much time on this analysis). Long story short - I would say 1900-1910.

To talk in more detail, first I'll focus on what we know from the main timeline. As I mentioned earlier I'm of the opinion that the entire main cast hails from the 20th century. However there is a problem with Prospero: jabot is in his nevermore uniform. He calls it a cravat but like. it's clearly a jabot.

Unlike a cravat a jabot is a rather old–fashioned accessory which mostly disappeared from the men's wardrobe by the middle of the 19th century. Prospero may look like the most fashion conservative person but cmon not that much. Earlier someone pointed out to me that we don't necessarily have to judge students' lifetime based on their school uniforms (i mean women of the Lenore class didn't wear trousers in that era, Annabel clearly did not wear skirts above her knees during her lifetime and the origin of the bolo tie worn by Monty in the first season gives me a headache). I do not rule out that RnF designed academie uniforms based more on vibes than on the time period fashion.

For the last meal Prospero chooses cannoli and espresso. Espresso as a method of making coffee in a more or less traditional form was patented in 1884  (although the coffee machine version of that time was apparently very uh. rough draft i would say. most sources will tell you that espresso was popularized in the 1900). The term espresso itself is also found in various sources of the first decade of the 20th century.

Now I will study his flashback frame by frame and line by line.

The disease he talks about in the flashbacks is most likely tuberculosis. At least the symptoms of hemoptysis coincide. Besides tuberculosis was treated for a long time in sanatoriums, where as mentioned Prospero worked.

The tuberculosis vaccine was invented in 1921, but it became widespread much later. The first most effective antibiotic was found in 1944. Prospero however claims that there is no cure, so the flashback obviously takes place much earlier, probably even before the invention of the vaccine.

Before the invention of drug treatment, tuberculosis was treated, among other things, with surgical intervention: pneumothorax, pneumonolysis or even removal of a part of the lung. Do you know what tuberculosis surgery reminded me of? Prospero`s hallucinations.

but im just saying. we digress.

So we know that Prospero and his family are Sicilian immigrants. Apparently emigration from Italy to the United States was most active in the late 19th and early 20th centuries and later Sicilian immigration was greatly hampered by WWI and the U.S. Immigration Act of 1924. According to Prospero`s cousin, many in their family did not attend school which corresponds to the low level of education among the Sicilian immigrants of the first wave: given the neglect and discrimination towards them, they simply did not trust the American education system and were not eager to adapt among people who despised them.

As for dago slur, it was used against people of italian/hispanic origin in 1900 (more or less).

Aaaand let's finish the same way we started – fashion. In his flashback Prospero is wearing a cape coat, possibly an Ulster but not necessarily. From what I've found capes for men's coats gradually went out of style during the Edwardian era.

The same goes for his tie. I have no idea if it has a specific name but the bottom line is that it's a relic of the Victorian, or at best the Edwardian era. In the 1920s the Langford tie was invented, the one that we know as a normal modern tie. It actually pushed older fancy neckwears from the market, including that kind of large bow ties over the collar.

Anyway yeah rip Prospero you would have loved BCG vaccine.

[anyoldfandom]

Spoilered for more Isleweaver thoughts!

I think the the "Glory" that was "working" inside us was despair. Another parent dead, one we personally know and love. Because, despite getting mad at us at times - I think Wally doesn't actually wish the Drifter harm.

He mimics us in face sometimes, he turns Rusalka into a host he has never seen before, wears her like we wear our Warframes.

But he also turns into Entrati just as much. He was BORN of Entrati's fears of the Void, both the Void itself and also a manifestation, according to Entrati'a notes and Sythel. And I think it's very relevant to this that Wally has such a focus on parenthood, sees us and Rusalka sympathetically. Wally's own "father" chopped off his fingers, ran in fear from him - how could parents not be failures? This Void manifestation's first moments of "existence" had his father chop off fingers, something Wally returns to over and over again. It's a betrayal, and all parents fear and hate their children. What happened to us was said to be an experiment, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was just born of Wally being a creature of despair and not being able to see past how not just he was hurt by Entrati, but BORN of Entrati's fear - the fear of a character who we are first introduced to as a father himself. And Rusalka, an orphan again who was "failed" by her adoptive parents, not stopped from joining the Scaldra - well, she's sympathetic too, isn't she? A child who spent so much of her life afraid, eventually running into the embrace of despair. A child so like us, an orphan whose new parents (Ordis and Lotus) didn't try to stop from running back to the past to stop Wally alone - something the Drifter does struggle with I think, considering that one convo with Quincy where he (with the best intentions) points out that it is kinda fucked that we were sent to the past, that no one protested or tried to stop us.

But also, we have a special connection to Wally because we were always nurtured by the Void. Even as we piss off and refuse to share with and fight against Wally, he gives us chance and chance again to return - isn't that nice? Isn't that better than any father would be? No matter how much we fight, Wally really does just want us to come home to him.

I think Wally well and truly just...adores us still. Especially the Drifter. We see it with how focused Rusalka is on us too, how the poor naive Orphan in the story just needs to learn the way things work.

I think that explains at least some of the contradictions - Wally hates parents, loves family. At least, he loves what he thinks are HIS family - Rusalka, who embraces him now, and the Drifter, who embraced him (despair) for untold time in Duviri. A runaway child that just needs to come back to him, and he will take away all their anger, their sorrow, fear, jealousy, and fleeting joy.

(The Operator, now, I wonder if Wally still loves them - or views their relationship with Ordis and Lotus, consistently choosing to fill their life with new parents, as a betrayal. Or if attempting to "consume" them, as the Lotus called it, is a way to "bring them back" into the family in their eyes, to return them to the family since they are so stalwart and far less likely to be depressed with their support system. Love putting them out of Wally's reach - just like Entrati says. That also makes me wonder if Wally also hates the Hex so much because of that, uses Rusalka to call them freaks when she asks who's protecting them while we're in Duviri. If the Operator is so far out of reach now, with their parents - maybe Wally is fearing we will be, too.)

(I also think it is ironic but very telling of his origins that despite this hatred for Entrati, Wally still has put himself in a parental role in this hypothetical family. I think, once more, to the repeating idea in Isleweaver - that one day, the spider children will eat their parents and grow stronger for it.)

I want to throw my thoughts out there and gush about how good this update is even though there is no quest

SPOILERS FOR ISLEWEAVER OFC

Lore wise spiders appeared in Warframe a few times (Chains of Harrow*, Lettie using them as a metaphor for depression); the 15 fragments seem to be Rusalka's autobiographical version of the tales of Duviri: she ran away from her emotions untill she had nowhere else to go, nothing to "fill her life up with", and the indifference jumped at her moment of weakness. Ofc the spider (Wally) saying he could "eat up" all of her worries and finally eating her is just a perfect fairytale way to put her fate into words. Instead of fixing the things that make her sad, envious, angry, he "kills" her, then she can't feel bad anymore. Here's a KIM chat with Lettie that explains it well:

Drifter: You've mentioned the spiders before, a metaphor for depression, I assume?

Lettie: Ay si. Something I've had all my life. Stupid little things in my head that tell me lies. Little things that whisper to me things that I believe when I am too stupid and fall for it.

[...]

Lettie: Then you truly understand what it's like, mi corazon. They are little pinches cabronas. But they are liars remember that always. This kind of sadness is small but it can be a poison if you let it get too strong**. Mi mama had it all her life so I have seen the toll it takes.

Lettie: But here is why I call them spiders. Because you can take a newspaper can roll it up into a tube. And CRUSH THEM. They are small and easily broken.

Lettie points out that this destructive force (depression in her case, indifference in the story at large) is not that strong, but it's steady and unrelenting. Kinda like how the murmur's assault on Albrecht's lab is described in the codex. **I also think that Rusalka slowly poisoning herself with effervon is just another nice symbolic layer to this.

When she brings her self-poisoning up, she also says that the indifference offered her new life. It made a pact the same way it did with the tenno, catching her at the lowest point in her life. We have no idea what the nature of her (and ours tbh) deal really is so this is heavy speculation. I don't think Rusalka is all gone (the secret message for her parents and some of her dialogue in Duviri make it seem like she's working with Wally, instead of being a hollowed out meatsuit). The man in the wall is using her, she's sort of given up on herself. She saw no other way out of her situation in Höllvania. She ran off to Duviri with Wally believing there is no possibility of things getting better. The fragments are a tragic realization of what got her up to that point of no return.

*The story of the corpses on the other hand plays well with what we hear from Rell. He mentions baby spiders eating their mother. Wally definitely remembers this since he was stuck hyper focusing on Rell for a long time. Velimir's and Minerva's corpse entries? stories? what am I writing... are obviously both about parenthood.

Minerva's directly mentions baby spiders eating their mother to "become strong" (I don't remember well but maybe Erra says something like that to Lotus... the scope of this post is beyond me rn). I have a feeling that what Wally did with the Tenno was an experiment****. Nature vs nurture sort of thing. How would two identical children turn out if they grew up in totally different environments (Drifter and the Operator ofc). Idk why the indifference decided the parents must die in both cases, at that point, but since the void exists outside of time it's hard to say anything concrete really.

In Velimir's fragment the queen emphasizes how the parents turned on their children first, not just all adults.

(Screenshots from @tennospaceboots)

Tagfer theorized that Wally just wants to know about humans, the real world. So I don't think it's out of the question he used the Zariman as a fucked up experiment on human nature. I think the last line from Velimir's fragment speaks volumes:

The same crack runs through everything, kiddo, she explained. You want to deny it, that's on you.

I think what we see in these fragments is Wally speaking through Rusalka, as opposed to the fragments which are purely Rusalka. In that quote Wally gives his "thesis" on the human condition. Human nature is contradictory, as an outsider he sees all happiness as fleeting, and a cause for further suffering. He cannot wrap his head around this contradiction***, of love causing pain (parents holding themselves to a too high standard [the final secret Kim chat with Minerva and Velimir show that ultimately, even thought their family was torn apart, they still found peace], lovers separated [Albrecht and Loid]), he cannot see how it could be worth it. It's probably by his nature, he's the indifference after all. Makes me wonder if he considers, after seeing the differences between Drifter and Operator, if he could have been completely different if the circumstances of his "coming into being" were changed. If his body wasn't torn and stolen from him, used by unknown others, abused by Entrati. I prefer to interpret Albrecht's first meeting with the indifference as unfortunate, I don't think he could have reacted differently, he was probably like 2% as afraid as were the Cavia when he met face to face with Wally for the first time. I have plenty sympathy for him, which is why I love the story of Warframe so much. You can have sympathy for everyone EXCEPT THE OROKIN, THE HUMAN ROOT OF ALL EVIL.

***As a sidenote maybe that's why he hates us mixing elements into more complicated forms, symbolism etc. idk it's 4 am now.

****I think the line "No one has a greater imagination than a scared child" is backing this up, good God why doesn't the wiki have the quotes yet.... : (

I think when we find out more about his deal with the Lotus this whole thing will be more fleshed out. Is Wally saying (in the Minerva fragment) that we will learn that lesson by "eating" her? (Lotus eaters hello) I sure hope not. The sentients have the most cool, unusual and amazing family relations so I'm excited how DE will explore that.

This could be a whole fucking video at this point, Socratetris and Stallord I'm coming for your gig (no I'm not).

Now for the most important part of the post:

The forefathers of your forefathers looked into the shining heart of an atom, scribbled their clever equations, and ripped it apart. Did they spare a thought for the age-old love between proton and neutron? Or did they only think of the bountiful energy they could harvest?

I've been emotional about Warframe a few times but this hit me harder than a ton of Quorvexeseses. It's so simple yet so beautifully poetic I'm not even going to try to give a shitty explanation. Wally I love you and I'm so sorry.

And here I'll throw some random extra thoughts that are unrefined (I know the shit above is also unrefined but you know):

I think people have a tendency to overcomplicate things with Warframe's story, which I don't blame them, the story is a mess lol. But some of the theories I've seen on Oraxia's origin are jumping through too many hoops (am I a hypocrite now). I think she was a guardian Warframe for Entrati the same way Protea was for Parvos Granum. He was the most important scientist in the empire, seems logical that Ballas would give him a guardian.

Also wtf does Thrax mean that he was the most of a father we ever got.

A strange idea came into the Orphan's mind. The Queen knew at once that the Glory was at work within them, just as it worked within her, but she held her peace. - this line still puzzles me, ofc we see the indifference exercising control over Rusalka and the glory is a name the indifference chose for, well indifference, but what idea came into the orphan's mind?

It's kinda interesting that Wally himself seems kind of contradictive. If he's indifferent why does he even bother interacting with humanity? Why is conceptual embodiment a thing if the void "craves stillness, emptiness". He is so interesting. Maybe he wants to be human. He wants the contrast. He wants what he doesn't, and maybe even, can't have.

[himbopunk]

hmmmmm for the voiceclaim thing i might add temmie but not mavyuvan to round off the portraits to 12 instead of 11

[theragamuffininitiative]

.

[smile-files]

do you ever wish you could use a memory-erasing gun on yourself so you forget about all of the characters and stories you've come up with but which you know you'll never bring to life and thus have become more of an existential burden than anything

[preemptivejustice]

The rhythm of the subject’s actions had shifted. The words still felt sparse, but there was a weight in the silence now, something more than just absence. There was a gesture to the chest. A question, one that was half-spoken in motion. And then repetition. Not for clarification, but for emphasis. That was a kind of truth, wasn’t it? When something had to be said multiple times, just because saying it once didn’t hold enough weight. Because saying it once had been a guess, and saying it twice had been confirmation. 

Arthur recognized that. It was a human thing to do. 

He wrote down another note, a simple few strokes of the pen. It was a marker, a moment noted - nothing labeled, nothing judged. But it was something he felt important to note. 

The question that was returned wasn’t childish, though anyone else may have thought so. Throwing a question back at him; do you know who you are? It was the oldest question in the world. The one that caused wars in the same extreme that it lit candles in temples. The question that shaped religions, art, science. It could be simple, it could take a lifetime. 

He raised his eyebrows, giving a smile that made his eyes sparkle softly. “That depends on what you mean by who.” 

He leaned back a bit, his back finally touching the wall behind him as he softly leaned against it. He never broke eye contact, however, his own gaze anything but pitying - it wasn’t even gentle. It was something harder to name, caught somewhere between respectful and informative. 

“I know what I’ve been told. My name, my title, my memories. My injuries.” He gestured to his leg. “The facts of me, things that can be measured, classified, described. But I don’t think that those are the same thing as knowing who I am.” Most people would agree. It was a topic he had spent a long time thinking about, as it was a topic that he worked with so frequently. 

Arthur stretched his legs out in front of himself, crossing them carefully over each other. “When you say ‘I’, you have to be referring to something that cannot change. ‘I’ am not Dr. Harrow. I have been given that as a title. ‘I’ am not happy - that is a state of being. Your body changes. Your thoughts change. Even personality changes. So when we discuss who I am, we are talking about what remains. We are talking about the thing that experiences those emotions. The thing that uses those titles.” 

He watched the subject a bit closer, at that, as if he expected something to change within the other. He wasn’t writing, right now; he was observing, but he was also here, present. 

“There is something here that notices things. Something that watches when I am afraid, and that knows that I am afraid. Something that sees pain, and knows it is pain. I do not become those things, I am observing them. Even when I forget that, when my emotions become so powerful that I am lost in grief or anger, there is still a part of me knowing that I am only experiencing it.” 

Emotion was a state. Name was a title. The only thing consistent in any man was the fact that all of it was observed; therefore, the thing observing was the only true thing that existed. 

“That’s what I think I am. Not thoughts, not name, not even a body. The thing that watches it all. The thing that is capable of wondering. Some people call that the soul, some call it awareness. Some people call it the Self. I don’t know if any of them are correct - but I know that when I say ‘I’, I am referring to that part of me. The observer.” 

His eyes stayed sharp, watching the other for a moment or two longer. He let it sit, just long enough for the other to process it fully; it was a hard concept to understand. He hadn’t expected the interest in it.

“… Do you consider yourself to be the same thing as me?” 

A lot of words, a lot of talk, a continuous stream of explanation; Something settles somewhere within his frame when that answer he's been looking for is given to him---

I’m trying to find out whether there’s someone in there, or only something.

Kane breathes, in and out, and blinks. The shift is noticeable, even though it's barely there - the way shoulders seem to soften a bit, a posture sinking further into itself, expression returning to something a lot more blank, empty almost, as that gaze continues to stare at Dr. Harrow. It takes in the sight and takes in the information, as it always does, that instinct that exists and makes survival possible... but there's something else to it now, something that's new, a concept Kane's familiar with and yet not quite.

He wonders what it is, whatever is happening within him at that very moment. It does not feel good. Does it feel like anything? He just came up with it all of a sudden, to use this specific word - feeling - to describe what could be going on. It doesn't know what a feeling truly is, but it knows, because Kane is aware of the concept of it. Kane felt. He felt a lot, and he felt it intensely, but here Kane is and he has never really felt, but he might be feeling at this very moment.

---A hand moves, all of a sudden - unfolds itself from the other - before a palm comes in contact with Kane's own chest, placed at the center of it, fingers loosely splaying. A second passes, another, then that hand pulls back and hovers, palm up, with that gaze flicking away from Dr. Harrow to focus on the skin instead - the creases of tissue and muscle, fingerprints, shape of bone hidden beneath flesh.

Is he someone or is he something? Only something. Only. Is being something a bad thing? What even is being bad to begin with? Something had felt bad, but is it really bad? The concept of good and bad is known but it's foreign, with Kane never having been good or bad to begin with. It doesn't seek to be good or to be bad, it just is. Kane just is. He is, and what he is he does not know. He thinks he knows what he isn't, despite knowing that he is - but he's not the same. He is different, but still the same in a different way.

--Is it, is he, aware of itself, of himself?

Kane is aware of this hand. He is aware of this body. Does that mean he is aware of... this?

Do you consider yourself to be the same thing as me? Ignoring bodies, and focusing solely on that ‘ghost’ in the machine. Do you think you and I are both ghosts?

"I don't think we are the same."

Another slow blink, a jaw that works once more, fingers that curl into a fist while Kane watches it happen - digits squeeze for a moment before he lets go of the tension to stretch them back out, watching blotches of red and white on his skin disappear and morph back into a more even shade of color.

Gaze turning empty, far away.

---Slithering intestines. Moving fingerprints. A questioning of humanity, of one's existence, identity. Self-destruction.

Not him. But him. Not really him, but him at the same time. He felt it, he did not, and yet here they are.

"...I don't think we are the same." A repeat, but it sounds more final once it has been spoken out for that second time, a certain kind of tiredness seemingly clinging to those syllables as they're exhaled into the silence. "I don't know."

---That hand then falls down, comes to a rest on a thigh, fingers pressing against the fabric surrounding the muscle and skin beneath. Not too hard, just enough to have himself feel the action as a whole, as if seeking something to stabilize himself with while that averted gaze remains blank, unfocused.

Until...

"...Do you know who you are?" Focus returns, back on Dr. Harrow.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Do you ever read a post where someone is explaining a pokitical thing and from the way they're saying you know with absolute certainty 1) they got their info from a tumblr post and have never actually followed up on how feasible that information actually is to act upon (they may not even have checked if it was CORRECT, but when they do they have clearly not looked into how easy or hard it may be to follow those instructions with a positive outcome), and 2) you know WHICH tumblr post they're quoting because it is basically a copy/paste of it, and 3) it was YOUR goddamn post and the thing they are saying is entirely counter to the point you were making when you said it to the point that you genuinely wonder if they just like. Memory-holed the entire context once they saw that one itty bitty point.

It's like the motherfuckiny dating apps all over again. I do not want people to love my words if they are not actually willing to do the work of understanding them! Didn't your kindergarten ever make you play Telephone to teach you how heresay falls out????

[peapod20001]

I’m the type that can and will cry if think too hard <3

[orcelito]

I do find it so funny that I will graduate college days away from my birthday. Like my birthday is literally in between the end of the semester ("graduation") and commencement

It really will be like a joint graduation & birthday party for me lmao

[quietwingsinthesky]

most frustrating part of writing a doctor who oc is that the doctor and the master will both sometimes just fuck off and do their own thing for a hundred years and be unfazed by it because they are functionally immortal. and i can’t stick my oc with them because they’ll just. die. so what, do i just put them in a pen until those guys get back? spruce up their enclosure while they’re waiting to get picked up to go on adventures again?

[agayconcept]

.

[yeahwellyourface]

You know who I do feel bad for in all this?

The person who turned Luigi in. I don't agree with what they did, but I get it. If they are working for McDonald's, they are probably at minimum wage. Full time (which they probably weren't, cause fuck McDonalds probably doesnt want to have to give benefits)yearly pay for min wage is $15,000. The rewards together were $60,000.

Can you imagine how much that would change their life? FOUR TIMES their yearly wage. I am so incredibly privileged in comparison, but four times my yearly wage would change so many things for me.

You think about your family, and how much that could help. You think about your living situation. You think about rent and food prices and a vehicle. All of that would be so much easier, even for a little bit of time.

And then to find out that you probably won't get the money on technicalities. And if you do, you definitely won't get all of it. And even then, it will take at least a year.

Being told that you would get something that would change your life, the life of your children, and it's bullshit. Yet another reason you can't trust the cops.

And it also shows another way that authorities are so fucking stupid about this whole thing. Any trust people had in them is being blown out of the water. It is so incredibly clear the difference in ways people are treated. Children are being killed in school and nothing, but one CEO gets shot and it's considered terrorism. A CEO who profited off the deaths of thousands. But that person is more important than all us regular people. And now this reward BS. Do they actually think ANYONE is gonna help them again after seeing how they are screwing this person over

And eric fucking adams being in that fucking perp walk. That bastard has spent the past several months talking "innocent until proven guilty" and "due process"...but only when it comes to committing his own crimes. Not someone else's where he can pretend that he is some sort of hero.

It is amazing how people who are in power and people who think thay they can gain power by protecting the rich are so out of touch.

[stylesispunk]

"I only see daylight"

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too. w.c: 1,7k (tiny baby) warnings: mentions of blood, crying, and mentions of an afterlife. I don't know if you believe in that but I like to think about it.

a/n: I don't know if you could consider this a fix-it fic, but I hope you do because I love this little idea I had the other day. I know it's short, but I have requests to work in and more "Blind faith" chapters to work in. Happy reading. Please remember to reblog and comment. I appreciate them very much.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Joel…Can I ask you something?” Ellie asked, clearing her throat.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead of them but gave a small nod. “Shoot.”

“Did you… I mean, before all this. Did you ever… you know. Love someone? Like, for real?”

Joel’s grip on his backpack tightened. For a moment, he wasn’t walking on that road anymore. He was somewhere else. Back when he was younger, with his baby girl in his arms and a woman’s laugh in his ears.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

Ellie looked over at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

“Who was she?”

He hesitated, then let out a breath. “Her name was… well, she came into my life the day Sarah was born. Her mother… she didn’t stick around. But she did. God, she did. Never asked for anything. Just… showed up with a smile and a cup of hospital coffee. Held Sarah like she was her own. She was her mother and she was my wife.”

Joel smiled faintly, a ghost of a smile. “We were together for years. Raised Sarah, built a life in Austin. Didn’t even get around to getting’ married. World ended a month before that.”

Ellie was quiet, watching him. “What happened to her?”

Joel’s eyes clouded. “The outbreak happened.”

He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

He still couldn’t say out loud how you died on his arms two days after Sarah.

How the smell of fresh coffee that filled the kitchen at home became the smell of blood sticking on his hands while he tried to keep you alive.

The snow fell fiercely outside the lodge. Joel’s breath ragged and shallow.

He couldn’t take the pain anymore. He couldn’t survive another punch against his face. He was dying.

He could barely see Ellie, screaming some feet away from him. Pleading.

“Joel, please get up.” “Joel, please” she choked.

Oh, his baby girl. He wanted to swallow all the pain, but his broken bones and body could barely bear the pain.

One push, one try. But something sharp on his neck stole his lasts breaths away.

His vision blurred. The world dimmed. In those mere last moments, last seconds. He saw them.

Ellie crawling to him.

But he also saw you. Beautiful as ever, eyes wet, reaching for him.

And Sarah just as she was that night in Austin, her smile breaking his heart.

Joel tried to speak, but no words came.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

Then, nothing.

All went black.

For a moment, or perhaps forever, there was nothing. No pain. No cold. No Ellie’s voice calling his name. Just silence.

The soft chirping of morning birds. The faint hum of a ceiling fan. And the distant smell of fresh coffee.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open.

His breathing was steady, his body didn’t hurt. No blood. No searing pain in his ribs. No snow or cracked lodge ceiling above him.

Instead, a familiar ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, and pale morning light streamed through the curtains of his room.

At home, in Austin.

He sat up abruptly, a cold sweat clinging to his skin.

The bed side next to him was made, your side, neatly tucked like you always did. A glass of water sat untouched on your nightstand. The clock on the wall read 7:14 AM. The same perfume he had never got to forget lingered on your pillow, soft and warm, and so goddamn real Joel felt his chest tighten.

His hand shot up to his face, searching for cuts, bruises, something. But there was nothing. His hair was damp with sweat, but his fingers came away clean.

He swallowed hard, heart thudding in his ears.

What the hell was this?

Joel swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet pressing against cool wooden floors. He could hear movement in the kitchen, the gentle clink of a spoon against a mug, the scrape of a chair.

His throat closed up.

It was you, your laugh echoing through the house.

Soft. Carefree. Real.

And for a moment, he was terrified to move, terrified that if he stood and crossed that room, it would disappear, like every other goddamn thing in his life had.

But the pull was too strong.

Joel pushed open the bedroom door.

The house was just as he remembered it. The old photographs lining the hallway. Sarah’s soccer trophies. The faded denim jacket slung over the back of a chair. Everything untouched by fire, or blood, or the passage of time.

And then, there you were.

Standing in the kitchen, back to him, pouring coffee into two mugs. One of them, his old favorite. The one with the chipped rim he had broken up.

You turned as if you felt his eyes on you.

That same smile. That same light in your eyes.

“Morning, stranger,” you teased, unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.

Joel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled you into him, arms wrapping around your waist so tight it made you laugh, the mug nearly slipping from your hand.

“Whoa! Easy, cowboy,” you chuckled against his shoulder. “Bad dream?”

His hand cradled the back of your head, burying his face in your hair, drinking in your scent, the warmth of your body.

“I… I don’t know,” he rasped, voice thick.

“Hey,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I’ve been right here, Joel. I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you kissed him , soft, steady, grounding, it felt like everything broken inside him finally came home.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours for a beat longer, eyes shut, breathing you in like a man starved. But then, something shifted. His hand, still resting against your waist, slid down, and froze.

A gentle curve. A fullness where there hadn’t been one before.

Joel’s brow furrowed, his eyes snapping open. He pulled back just enough to look down, and there it was.

Your belly, round and swollen beneath the soft fabric of your, his worn t-shirt. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

You followed his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey,” you murmured, resting your hand over his. “Don’t look so spooked.”

Joel swallowed hard, eyes flicking from your face to your stomach, then back again. His heart thundered in his chest, a thousand questions fighting for room.

And then you said it, soft and calm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Ellie is right inside here.”

Joel’s breath caught.

That name.

Ellie.

The word carved through him like a lightning strike. His mind, already fragile, started to crack along the seams. He stared at you, at the tender way your hand cradled your belly, at the glow in your eyes, like this had always been your life.

“Ellie?” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

You smiled, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “Yeah?” you nodded, looking a bit worry because of his state. “Remember doctor says she’s stubborn already.” You chuckled, your eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and mischief. “Wonder where she gets that from.”

Joel staggered back a half-step, running a trembling hand through his hair. The room spun. A wave of warmth and memory and heartbreak crashing into him all at once.

He remembered Ellie. How couldn’t he? He remembered snow and blood and a lodge floor.

But here, here she wasn’t a girl with a mouthful of trouble. She was…

His and yours.

For real.

A future that had never existed. A life stolen from him, given back in pieces.

Joel’s vision blurred. His knees buckled slightly, and you caught his arm.

“Joel,” you whispered, concern flashing across your face. “Hey — hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby. You’re alright. We’re alright.”

He clung to you like a man drowning.

Joel clung to you like a man drowning, his face buried in the curve of your neck, your hand stroking the back of his head, steady and familiar. You felt his breath hitch, the tremble in his arms. Whatever nightmare had clawed at him, it was still lingering in his bones.

Then, he heard the footsteps.

Light, quick steps padding down the hallway. The soft creak of the floorboard outside the room.

“Dad?” a young voice called.

Joel stiffened. His head jerked up.

And there she was.

Sarah.

Alive. Whole.

Framed by the doorway in her faded hoodie and denim shorts, backpack slung over one shoulder, a little messy ponytail, like she always rushed through it in the mornings.

“Dad, Mom — it’s getting late for school,” she groaned, rolling her eyes like any other teenager. “I already saw uncle Tommy waiting out front, and if I have to listen to him sing along to the radio one more time, I swear I’ll jump outta the truck.”

Joel’s breath punched out of him like he’d been hit. His lips trembled.

“Baby girl…” he rasped.

Sarah blinked, confused. “You okay, Dad? You look kinda… weird.”

You smiled gently, your heart cracking a little at Joel’s expression, and stepped toward Sarah, brushing a hand down her arm. “Hey, sweetheart — give your dad a second, okay? He’s just… he had a rough night.”

Sarah sighed, the way only a 12-year-old could. “Ugh, bad dreams again? Should’ve told him not to eat chili dogs that late.”

Joel let out a strangled laugh, a sound halfway between a sob and a chuckle.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s temple. “Uncle Tommy’s taking you today. Go grab your stuff, and I’ll be out in a sec.”

Sarah groaned but turned, heading back toward the hall. “Tell him I call dibs on the front seat!” she shouted over her shoulder.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Joel collapsed back to your arms, his hand dragging down your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“You’re safe, Joel. You’re home.” You promised as you caressed his neck with your fingertips

His eyes, wet and wide, met yours. “Is this… is this real?” His voice cracked like it was too fragile to ask. “You. Sarah. Baby Ellie. Is this…?”

You leaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“It’s real,” you promised softly. “It’s ours.”

And for the first time in years, in decades, Joel Miller cried.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve to see this light again.

But whoever had mercy on him. Gave him the chance to live a second life in daylight.

With you, Sarah, and a baby, Ellie.